


House Guest

by pasiphile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, Handcuffs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for prompt: "Jim/Sebastian/Sherlock, and as dubcon as you'd like. It could either be Jim and Seb nearly tearing Sherlock to pieces, or Jim and Sherlock teaming up on Seb, your choice!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Guest

Jim has, over the last few years, sent you out for various reasons. You don’t really mind; if Jim needs his space, so be it. But the one reason you like least is when he sends you away to spend some  _quality time_ with Sherlock bleeding Holmes.

When you get back to the flat Holmes is still in, for once. Leaning against the kitchen cupboard while Jim is sitting on the counter opposite, looking for all the world like they’re just having a casual chat.

Although for all you know, they  _are_.

“Still got all your clothes on? I’m surprised,” you say.

Holmes turns to look at you. He’s got creepy eyes, too light, colourless. Polar opposite of Jim’s black-holes-of-oblivion.

He often stares at you, Holmes. At least, he does on the rare occasions the two of you are in the same room; most of the time Jim keeps you apart.

“See anything you like?” you leer.

He blinks twice, rapidly.  _The Virgin_. Not anymore, though, if Jim’s to be believed.

“Seb. Play nice with the guests,” Jim says, clucking his tongue.

You roll your eyes and go to the kitchen. “ _I_  didn’t invite him.”

“No, but I did. Are you feeling rebellious again?”

“Piss off.” You go to your knees to put away the groceries . Jim’s foot suddenly lands on your shoulder, pressing you down. You lean your hands on the floor and grit your teeth.

“You know what  _else_  you’re supposed to do with guests?” Jim continues, in that gleeful tone he only uses when he’s feeling particularly sadistic.

“Dunno, kill them and stuff their corpses in the fridge?”

He clucks his tongue. “ _Share_. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“What do you – ” and then the penny drops. You look up at Jim and his broad smirk, and then at Holmes, who’s studying you with a slight superior smile. “You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not. Get to the bedroom, I’m getting impatient.”

You push his foot off your shoulder and straighten up, glaring. “I am  _not_ your fucking boytoy to be passed around as you please, alright?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” Holmes says, sounding bored. “You’ve been ogling me since the first time you saw me.”

You round at him, furious. He's right, though. Because yes, Holmes is pretty nice to look at. Plus, he’s attractive to you in the same way that your old classmates were, or the bright-eyed banker boys or the trust-fund lads in Belgravia. Lust mixed with contempt and sadism, it’s a heady cocktail.

But Holmes… He’s smarter than you, something you’re constantly aware of, and taking him to bed would  _not_ be a good idea.

Except Jim practically ordered you to.

You look over your shoulder at Jim. “And what are you going to do? Watch?”

“I’m going to join in, obviously.” He leers. “I always wondered what he would do to someone who isn’t me.”

“And likewise here,” Holmes says, still in that  _infuriatingly_ superior, amused tone.

“Yeah?” you say, heated, angry. “ _Fine_.” And you grab Holmes’ stupid cheekboned face and kiss him hard, pressing him up against the counter.

He flails in surprise. You throw an arm around his waist and grind up against him, forcing your tongue between his lips.

“ _Sebastian_ ,” Jim chides.

You step back, hands raised. Holmes has gone pink, blinking rapidly. He touches his mouth and then looks at you again.

“Cat got your tongue?” you say, smugly.

Holmes blinks again, and then he takes your nape and pulls you into another violent, hungry kiss.

This time it’s you who’s surprised, enough that he manages to turn the both of you around without any trouble. You’re vaguely aware of Jim cackling in the background, but –

You try to gasp for air and he lets your mouth go, migrates to your throat, biting down hard.

He’s  _good_ at this, Holmes. Must be Jim who taught him, you can’t think where else he would have picked up kissing like  _that_.

You tangle your fingers into his curls and pull him back forcibly. He smirks at you. “You were saying?” he says.

“Fuck you.” You push him off and step back, closer to Jim. “You’re serious?” you ask him. “Really? You want us to…”

“Yes.” He grins. “Your mouth is bleeding.”

“Is it?” you ask, still a bit dazed. You touch your tongue to your mouth and taste blood.

“He’s a biter, our Sherlock.”

“ _Our Sherlock_ is right here,  _Jim_ ,” Holmes says drily. “And getting impatient.”

“Well, Seb? In or out?” Jim asks.

You look around quickly. You can’t remember him ever asking for your input like that. For Holmes’ benefit? Or does he mean it?

You give Holmes a considering look. Well, why not? “Fine. Bedroom, you said?”

Jim nods.

You pull your shirt off and stride straight to the bedroom, trying to ignore the feel of two pair of eyes boring into your back.

***

Holmes is still watching you.

You resist the urge to preen. It isn’t an admiring kind of look, after all. He’ll be gathering clues, deducing your eating habits from a cut on your finger and things like that.

Although, truth to be told, he doesn’t look that unaffected. Not that he’s exactly easy to read, but you’re used to Jim; compared to him, Holmes is about as emotionally obvious as an excitable five-year old.

“So, how are we going to do this?” you ask Holmes, leaning back on your hands.

Holmes blinks again. “You’re being remarkably blasé about this.”

“I’m sorry, what did you expect? Shame?  _Nervousness_?”

“Sebastian fucks like he breathes,” Jim says idly. He’s already lost his jacket and shoes and is undoing his cufflinks, with a deft little flick of his fingers.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sherlock asks. He takes his jacket off, still staring down at you. Superior, nose upturned, but you recognise the signals.

“That sex is just sex, and I’m not about to get all fussy about it. Come here,” you add, but Holmes dodges your hand.

“No, thank you, I  _am_ capable of undressing myself.”

You roll your eyes at Jim. “Are you  _sure_ you like him?”

“Hmm, just wait.” Jim, naked as well now, gets on the bed and shuffles closer, kneeling behind you. He tilts your head up and gently bites your throat.

And Holmes is still watching you, eyes dark. Suddenly you have to swallow.

It’s not like it’s your first threesome, but those had been with – well, with  _normal_ people. Jim is a handful in the best of circumstances, and Holmes… They’re similar, aren’t they? So this is going to be like fucking Jim-squared.

“Jim said you’re mostly submissive,” Holmes says. He’s sat down to unlace his shoes, all prim and proper.

“Yeah, to  _him_ ,” you snarl, because no way in hell you’re going to let that little prick think he can take of control of you.

But Jim laughs. “I also said he had bite.” He pulls away from your neck and leans his chin on your shoulder. “Sure you can handle him, Sherlock?” he asks, sweetly.

“Sure he can handle me?” Holmes shoots back, not even blinking. He gets up again and undoes at his belt buckle. He has good hands, long fingers – didn’t Jim say he plays an instrument?

Jim runs his hands over your arms, gently pulling them behind your back. Your breathing speeds up and handcuffs click closed around your wrists – the usual ones, you know the feel of them intimately by now.

The great Sherlock Holmes has meanwhile dropped his trousers. You cock your head and look him slowly up and down, leering, hoping to throw him off, but he doesn’t budge. He’s still got that specimen-underneath-a-microscope look going on, which  _probably_ shouldn’t be as much a turn-on to you as it is.

Jim grabs your shoulder and pulls. You flail in surprise, pulling against the handcuffs you’d forgotten were there and almost fall over. But somehow you manage to stay on your knees, back turned to Holmes, facing Jim.

“Well,” Jim says, eyes skipping over your face. “This is going to be interesting. I’ve never really seen your face from this close, have I? I wonder what kind of expression you make.”

You immediately resolve to stay as passive as you can and deny Jim the satisfaction of drinking up every little squirm and wince.

The sound of a drawer. You’re getting antsy, feeling things happening behind your back but not able to look – Jim’s fingers are digging into your cheeks, holding you painfully in place.

Drawer shuts. The sound of a cap being popped – ah, so that’s where this is going.

“Open up,” Jim says, with a little pat on your leg.

You obediently shift until your legs are spread wide, even though it feels vulnerable and the back of your neck is prickling – damn both of them, ‘cause of course this is on purpose, playing your instincts.

Holmes’ cold fingers touch your arse, leaving slick traces. You grit your teeth and stare ahead.

Jim tuts. “You know, darling, it almost looks like you’re not enjoying this.”

“Does it?” you sneer. One of Holmes’ fingers pushes inside.

“Luckily bodily reactions don’t lie,” he says from behind you. It’s… annoying, sort of, because you can ignore him a bit when he’s just a hand, a body, but once he starts talking…

He pushes another finger in, angling down, and your breath hitches.

“Case in point,” Holmes adds drily.

“Such a proud beast,” Jim says, grinning. He slides his hand to your neck and kisses you, leisurely, and with Holmes’ fingers still inside of you it feels –  _strange_ , in a good way. Or what might have been a good way had it been anyone but Sherlock bleeding Holmes fingering you.

He goes to your neck, sucking gently. Looking over your shoulder, meaning he probably has eye-contact with Holmes. You try to turn your head, see what they’re up to, but again Jim takes your jaw and forces you to look forward.

Three fingers, now. You’ve been ready for quite a while now, but still Holmes takes his time, turning and prodding, as if he’s examining every square inch of you.

And, again, it’s surprisingly hot.  _Fuck_ your sexual preferences, really.

Another slow hard stroke of Holmes’ fingers has you gasping, just a little. Jim bites down on your shoulder. “Getting impatient?” he asks.

You rock back a little, trying to get some more friction than Holmes’ slow touch, but he just goes with it. “ _Yes_ , actually.”

“Well then.” Another moment of silence – Holmes and Jim reading each other’s minds, or communicating by blinking, or something else ridiculous and inhuman.

Jim leans back, his hand closing loosely around your throat. Holmes pulls his fingers out. The tearing sound of packaging, and his hands on you again. He puts one hand between your shoulderblades and pushes a little. You bend down, giving him access, even though the passivity of it grates a little.

But Jim is still caressing your throat, that helps. And despite your personal feelings, it’s still  _sex_ , it’s never going to be entirely unpleasant.

Holmes pushes in. You arch your back as much as you can in this position, with your hands tied. Once again Holmes takes his time, going in inch by inch, which is bloody frustrating but also pretty  _good_.

When he’s fully inside Jim pushes you back upright again. Holmes is about your height so it doesn’t get too awkward, but it isn’t that. It’s…

It’s having Jim in front of you but being unable to touch him. It’s Holmes, behind you, whom you can feel but not see. It’s both of them, somehow completely in tune without even having to talk, doing things to you at the same time and you’re not entirely sure if you can handle this, them, without…

They switch hands: Holmes takes your throat, bending your head back a little, and Jim’s hands slide down over your chest to your hips. “Let’s play a game,” he says, squeezing your thighs. “It’s called  _how long can you last_.”

Jim runs his thumb over the head of your cock. You groan, and behind you Holmes makes a little noise – the first involuntary noise you’ve heard him make, actually, the man must have iron self-control.

“Want to play, Seb?” Jim asks, grinning. He curls his fingers around you, too light to be of any real help, more of a tease.

“Do I have any choice?” you say, ironically.

“Hmm, good point, no. Sherlock?”

And he moves. One hand around your throat, the other holding your upper arm, slow shallow thrusts that make you want to  _scream_ for more. Jim matches it, his fingers drawing random patterns on your cock. You close your eyes, bite the inside of your cheek. You’re damnedif you’re going to beg with Holmes here.

“Out of curiosity,” Holmes asks, and no one should sound that cool and composed with their cock up someone’s arse. “How long does he generally last?”

Jim shrugs. “Depends. There are a lot of – how do you say it again?  _Variables_.” He spits in his hand and starts jerking you off, quick and dirty. It’s a dizzying combination with Holmes still fucking you with the patience of a particularly kinky saint, and you can already feel your orgasm building.

 _How long can you last_? Not that long, apparently.

Holmes tilts your head back and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing the skin. He moves down a little, to the sensitive place where Jim bit down. You try to reach out automatically, but of course the cuffs stop you in your tracks.

He bites down, right over Jim’s mark. It’s predictable, you should have seen this coming, but you didn’t and you arch back with a sharp indrawn breath. Jim’s hand strokes your chest, thumbing at your nipples, his other hand still hard and fast on your cock. You bite your lip, close your eyes, try to hold off the inevitable…

Which doesn’t work, of course. You come hard, twisting against the chains, Jim working you to the last drop. Holmes, mercifully, stops moving, although his hand on your shoulder suddenly goes a lot tighter.

You stare down at it, still panting. His knuckles have gone white; seems like he’s human after all.

Jim gives Holmes a look over your shoulder. It seems to be enough to understand each other, because they move in tandem. Sherlock pulling out and getting off the bed, Jim taking your shoulder and pushing you to the other side of the bed. You tip down on your side, still a bit woozy, watching them both. Holmes has taken off the condom, eyes on Jim. It’s a strange look, intent. Questioning? Something you can’t read.

You give the handcuffs a jingle. “Erm…”

“No,” Jim says, not even looking at you.

You wince and shift. Do they want you to get out? No, ‘cause they would’ve told you, or actually thrown you out.

Which means Jim wants you to look. Well, fine.

Holmes grabs Jim’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. For all that he was slow and controlled earlier, now he’s violent, eager. And Jim gives back as good as he got, pulling at Holmes’ hair and trying to bend his head back. His nails leave fiery marks down Holmes’ throat.

It looks more like wrestling than sex. Jim tries to hold Holmes’ shoulder but Holmes catches his wrist and pins it to the bed. Jim levers himself around, on top of Holmes, and traps his arms against the mattress. Holmes practically  _snarls_ in response

And yet somehow, still grappling, they manage to get their hips aligned, cocks rubbing together, groaning in unison.

You watch, wide-eyed, mouth gone dry. Jim  _wants_ , that much is obvious, and Holmes reciprocates all the way. Holmes, fucking Sherlock Holmes, always so above it all, grunting and sweating and writhing against Jim, leaving bruises on Jim’s pale skin, kissing him hard enough to make a little drop of blood appear on Jim’s lip.

He grunts again, thrusting his hips up. Jim reaches down, almost clumsy, catching both his and Holmes’ cock in his fist. Holmes moans, baring his neck. Jim goes down and  _bites_.

It’s, what, five minutes since you came? And already you’re so turned on you can barely breathe. The only thing you can do to get a bit of relief right now is to roll onto your stomach, but that would mean losing the view and no fucking way you’re going to lost sight of  _that_.

Jim’s moans have changed, gone higher-pitched, strangled. Meaning he’s close, you’ve heard those sounds more times than you can count. Holmes – he’s more difficult to read, but you’re guessing he’s close as well.

You squeeze your thighs together in a desperate attempt to ease your hard-on. Holmes pulls at Jim’s hair again, locking their lips together. Jim’s grip goes white-knuckled and he tenses up, seconds away from coming. Holmes writhes again, almost as if he’s in pain. And then –

They come in fucking unison, practically at the same second – talk about being in sync.

Jim collapses on top of Holmes, breathing heavily. He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours. After being an ignored bystander for a while it almost comes as a shock, being acknowledged again.

Your mouth is hanging open. You close it quickly, lick your lips.

Holmes turns his head as well. He’s heavy-lidded, pale cheeks flushed. He throws a disdainful look at your crotch. “Again?” he asks, contempt dripping off his voice.

It’s at least partly fake, you’re sure of that, an attempt to rile you. Problem is that it works, just a little. But it doesn’t dampen your arousal – more like the opposite.

You snarl at him. Jim laughs and sits up, running a hand through his sweat-slick hair. “Right,” he says, cheerfully. “Between the three of us we might just go all night. What do you think, my dear?” he adds, directed to Holmes.

A challenge, and he responds to that much in the same way you would: he raises an eyebrow and says, coolly, “I’m certain I can match  _you_  without any problems.”

Jim grins at him, openly delighted.

It’s a game they’re playing. Same like the one you and Jim play, whenever you talk back, challenge and taking it up, always forcing each other higher, further. It’s pretty fucking hot to see.

“Well then,” Jim says. They both turn to you, with matching predatory looks. “Let’s get  _cracking_.”

And you fall back on the bed. 


End file.
